


Triptych

by avalonjoan



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Cambridge, Cuddling, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jack plays for the Bruins now, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Snuggling, The Great British Bake Off, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, also, eventually, idk man, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6925468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonjoan/pseuds/avalonjoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The evolution of a relationship in three parts.</p><p>or</p><p>Three times Kent, Bitty, and Jack all end up sharing a bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Mass General Hospital was confusing. It had no fewer than a dozen buildings, all connected at different floors. Kent stood in front of a set of elevators, not sure if he needed to go up or down.   It was early in the evening so there weren’t many people around, and he was pretty sure he had already messed up the instructions the person at the front desk gave him. He was contemplating going back and playing the celebrity card to get an escort up to the right floor—not his usual style, but it wasn’t like he was trying to get to the front of the line at a club. He needed to know that Jack was okay.

Deciding to retrace his steps to the entrance, he wiped his palms on his suit pants and tried to remember how he’d gotten there. He’d been nervous in the week leading up to the Bruins-Aces game, but when Jack crumpled onto the ice without even taking a hit, Kent crossed the line into full-blown wreck. He knew he’d been an ass to his teammates for the rest of the game, but afterward, everybody stepped up and handled the press so he could get in the waiting cab to the hospital. The ride had felt interminable, but this labyrinth of a hospital was even more so.

“Kent?”

He stopped, whirling around. The elevator doors were closing, but a young man holding a cup of coffee slipped out before they could shut.

“Eric.”

One of the good things about Jack being the first NHL player to come out was that he and his boyfriend ended up doing their fair share of interviews, so it was impossible not to recognize Eric Bittle. He’d certainly grown up since Kent had met him at Samwell—his shoulders were broader, his face less boyish, but his expression made it clear that he would not be excitedly tweeting about further encounters with Kent.

Kent didn’t care. “How is he?”

“He’s fine. His blood pressure was low—they think it’s from his medication, but they’re keeping him to run a few more tests.” The other man’s voice was curt, and he punctuated his sentence with a sip of coffee.

“Good. That’s good.” Running a shaking hand through his hair, Kent let out a deep breath and nodded. Then he paused, eyes wide. “Wait. Medication—he’s not—it’s not benzos again, right?”

Eric shook his head, the steely glare dissipating. “No, no. He’s been trying a higher dose of Zoloft for a week or so, and apparently this is a known side effect.”

For the first time in three hours, Kent finally felt his thoughts stop racing. His biggest fears had been assuaged. Leaning against the nearby wall, he sighed, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, thank god.” He took a deep breath, let it out, shook his head a few times. “Okay.” He could feel his legs trembling as he pulled himself back to his full height. After a second of breathy, nervous laughter, he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down at the floor. “You should get back to him—thanks for letting me know he’s okay.”

“Aren’t you gonna come see him?” Eric raised an eyebrow.

“No, no. I don’t want to cause trouble.” Jack had told him to stay away, and he’d listened, for once. “Just, uh—let him know I’m glad he’s alright, if you want.”

Eric stepped closer to Kent, looking up at him. His expression was softer—still wary, but sympathetic. “I think we’ve all grown up since the last time you two saw each other.”

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“Then you’ll leave.” Eric started toward the elevator. “Come on—his room’s on the top floor.”

Kent followed Eric all the way upstairs, staying a step behind the younger man. From where he was lingering in the doorway, he could see Jack’s face light up the instant Eric entered the room. Jack was smiling when he broke away from Eric’s kiss. “How was your walk?”

“It was good. I think I got all of the big phone calls out of the way,” Eric said, taking a seat on the bed, “It sounds like the whole team’s going to come by later, and someone’s bringing your phone with them. I believe I spoke with every Samwell Hockey alum to personally let them know you’re alright, but you should probably say something in the group chat because they’re all losing it. And lastly, Mama and Coach send their love.” Eric reached up and brushed Jack’s bangs off his forehead. “And you have a visitor.”

For the first few seconds, Kent was sure Eric had made a mistake in inviting him to see Jack, who watched him wordlessly as he walked toward the foot of the bed. Kent attempted a smile and waved a few fingers at Jack. He regretted both immediately, and was contemplating cutting his losses and leaving right then when Jack smirked.

“You know, the last time we played together, I ended up in the hospital, too.”

“Better not make a habit of it.” He hadn’t known what to expect from Jack, but banter had not been on the list. “How are you feeling?”

Jack shrugged. “Great. I’m getting a--“ he paused, pointing to the white board on the wall, “--a stress echo in the morning, but I’m probably going home after that.”

A beeping sound interrupted them, and after looking at the heart monitor in panic, Kent realized it was Eric’s phone. “Sorry, y’all,” he said, standing and heading for the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Kent jerked his head in the direction Eric had gone. “Seems like thing are good with you two.”

Jack smiled. God, it was a beautiful sight to see Jack happy. “Yeah. We just got a place together in Beacon Hill, he’s starting his MSW—things are really good. How’ve you been?”

“Same old thing—still in Vegas, still with the Aces.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know if you saw, but your boys killed us tonight after you went out.”

“I caught the end of the game in the ER.” Jack yawned. “Still don’t think I want to make it a standard play.”

Shifting his weight between his legs, Kent laughed, and even that sounded tremulous. “I should let you rest before everyone shows up.” He walked to the side of the bed and extended a hand to Jack. There were so many things he wanted to say, but none of them seemed right or relevant. “Take care of yourself, Zimms.”

Jack took his hand and didn’t let go. “Wait.” He sat up, patting the bed with his other hand. Jack looked at him for a long moment, their hands still together, before tugging him down to sit beside him. “Come here, Kenny.”

When Jack went down on the ice, Kent was seventeen again, not knowing if his best friend was alive.   He’d worked hard to keep himself together, but when Jack pulled Kent into his arms, he came undone. Choking back a sob, he pressed his face into the other’s neck and held him probably too tight. He felt Jack’s hand cup the back of his head, combing his fingers through Kent’s hair. Years before, Kent had held Jack like this through panic attacks and what-ifs about coming out. Now, Jack was the one murmuring softly, reassuring Kent that everything would be okay.

Kent didn’t notice Eric reenter the room; he just felt the mattress dip as the other sat. Quickly, he leaned away from Jack, hands in his lap. “Sorry,” he managed, voice catching, “I should go. Your team will be here soon.”

Jack glanced at Eric. “Are they here already?”

“They’re gonna call me when they’re downstairs.”

“Take a minute to calm down,” Jack said, sinking back against the pillow. “Lie down for a bit, if you want.”

Eric was saying something about the sleeper couch, but Jack had already scooted over in the bed to make room for Kent. It didn’t look like Eric was particularly happy about Kent being there, but he fit himself in nevertheless, feeling Jack’s arm curl around him. He watched as Eric lay down on Jack’s other side, a mirror image of Kent, but with his hand resting on Jack’s chest protectively.

Jack kissed the top of Eric’s head, and Kent looked away. “If I fall asleep, wake me up when everyone gets here,” Jack said. “Thanks for handling everything, Bits. And Parse?”

Kent lifted his head just enough so that he could see Jack’s face—physically and emotionally exhausted, there was still a hint of a smile.

“It’s good to have you here.”

 

 

 

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent joins Jack and Bitty on a walk in Mount Auburn Cemetery. Things don't go so well.

Being friends with Jack again was easy. After reuniting in Jack’s hospital room the previous season, Kent and Jack had started texting again. At first it was little things, like congratulations after a win, but after a few weeks, it turned to honest-to-god conversation. There were apologies, explanations, more apologies, and many times that Kent wished he could just hold Jack, to have been there at every time in his past when he wasn’t. It was tough, and it hurt to think about the years they lost and the way things were.

But the air cleared, and the sinking feeling Kent used to feel when he saw Jack on television went away. They told decade-old jokes and came up with new ones and Jack finally learned how to use emojis properly and it was just nice. Every time Kent was in Boston, he’d find some time to meet up with Jack; they’d get lunch, or coffee, occasionally a drink.

He always specifically invited Eric along, because hey—he was friends with Jack again, he should be friends with his boyfriend. Eric would come, listen to their stories, talk about school when Kent asked, but mostly just stayed quiet. He never came off as rude—he was actually really polite to Kent, but something just felt off. This wasn’t the same man he saw in Jack’s Facebook pictures, and Kent couldn’t put a finger on what was different.

Kent couldn’t blame him for being suspicious, or even jealous. Before Jack passed out in the Bruins-Aces game, the last time Kent had seen either of them had been at Samwell. Kent had been a dick. He knew that, and who knows what Jack had told Eric about that night and nights before like it. But Jack seemed to have forgiven him, and Eric still kept him at a distance.

It was late October, the Aces had just defeated the Falconers, and Kent decided to drive up to Boston. There was a cemetery in Watertown that Jack wanted to go take pictures of, so Kent joined him and Eric on the trip. Kent tried to strike up conversation with Eric while Jack framed each shot, but nothing stuck. He’d just keep trying.

The morning was going well—it was still new for Kent to see Jack so happy—until Eric went down with a yelp. If the strap hadn’t been around his neck, Jack would have dropped his camera, and Kent saw his eyes widen and he jogged back to his boyfriend. Eric pointed to some uneven ground and rubbed his ankle, muttering about an old injury. He insisted he could stand, but when he tried, he ended up collapsing into Jack’s arms, shaking his head.

Jack had wordlessly carried Eric out of the cemetery on his back, and Kent suggested they go to the hospital they’d passed on the bus ride there. It was just around the corner, so Jack carried Eric all the way there, in spite of the younger man’s protesting that he could hop there if Jack would just put him down and give him an arm. In the emergency parking area, Kent found a wheelchair and helped Eric to sit down.

As soon as the person at the registration desk looked up from Eric to see Jack wheeling him in, everything started moving faster. They were brought to a room immediately, even though Kent could see patients lining the halls and in the waiting area. He had a strong suspicion that the chief of the emergency department didn’t come to evaluate every ankle injury, and he’d seen a lot of injuries in his NHL career, and not once had he seen someone get oxycodone as fast as Eric did. He stayed in the room with Jack while Eric went for x-rays, and knew better than to be bothered when Jack didn’t acknowledge him when Kent asked if he needed anything.

Eventually, Eric was put in an immobilizer boot and given crutches—nothing looked broken, they said, but the radiologist would review it and call them if they saw anything that might have been missed. Kent followed the other two into the waiting cab and watched as Jack dug his fingers into his own thigh, other hand holding Eric’s.

“I swear, y’all, this was not in the itinerary for today.” Eric had started drifting off on the ride home, interrupted with giggling as he struggled to use his crutches on the stairs to the apartment. Jack was a flurry of movement, setting Eric up in bed with pillows under his injured ankle and an ice pack over it. After scribbling out a medication timetable, Jack quickly kissed Eric and mumbled about getting him water before disappearing into the kitchen.

Kent heard the faucet turn on, standing awkwardly by the bed. He’d felt like he was in the way the whole time, but he hadn’t wanted to just abandon Jack in the ER, and now he was in their bedroom, watching Eric tweeting, fingers slowed by the opiates.

The faucet kept running. Eric looked up from his phone, and Kent looked at him.

“I’m gonna go see if he needs a hand.”

At the sink, Jack was hunched over, one glass clenched in his hand, empty. His forearms rested on the basin edge, and his legs shook, like he would fall with the slightest movement. Kent could hear his breathing, shallow and fast, over the running water.

He stepped up to the counter, trying to get into Jack’s periphery. “Hey.”

Jack lifted his head, letting go of the glass and facing Kent. His jaw was set and his hands were in fists, but his eyes were wide. Kent hadn’t seem him like this in years.

“Wanna talk?”

“Today was just—” Jack took a shuddering breath and paused, shaking his hands at his sides as if he could just flick the anxiety off of his skin. “--a lot. When Bitty’s ankle—when he’s hurt I—I know it’s stupid, like, I get thrown into the boards and he’s always so calm—when bad things happen to him—“

Kent put one hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Hey. Focus on your breathing. Slow it down.” He took a deep breath himself, paying attention as Jack gasped through the first few breaths before they evened out. “That’s good. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“If I were anyone else, it would be okay for me overreact about him getting hurt.” Jack’s voice was measured, monotone, like he was actively trying to stay calm. “But I’m Jack Fucking Zimmermann in the emergency room with his boyfriend and Kent Goddamn Parson, so I have to be ‘chill.’” He made air quotes with his fingers, jaw trembling as he started talking faster. “I know it was an accident and that he doesn’t need me to protect him but—”

Jack’s voice broke and he took a step toward Kent, putting his arms around him. “And I should be in there with him but I’m fucking losing it in here instead, and I just can’t—“ His words fell into an unintelligible mess of choked-back sobbing and attempts at actual breaths. Kent pulled Jack against him, rocking him ever so slightly.

“It’s okay, Jack. Eric--Bitty gets it.” He wanted to call Jack the sweet, gentle names he used to call him when this would happen, wanted to call him ‘honey’ and ‘baby’ and kiss the curve of his neck, his forehead. It wasn’t that he wanted to have Jack for himself again—being friends was good for them—but everything was entwined together, part of the muscle memory of comfort. “I know you’re worried about him. But he’s safe, he’s okay, and now you can take care of yourself.” He pulled back, enough that he could look Jack in the eyes. “What do you need?”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Kent touched Jack’s cheek, wordlessly urging the other to look up. “Why don’t you start with some quiet breathing, or—do you still listen to that playlist?”

“A different one, yeah.”

“You could do that.” Kent brushed away a few tears from Jack’s skin. “Does that sound like it would help?”

Jack nodded, swiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I might take something.”

“Whatever you need. You’ll be safe?” Kent waited for Jack to nod again before gently squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll go hang out with Bitty—take your time.”

“Thanks, Parse,” Jack said, taking a shuddering breath. “I’m gonna go lie down on the couch—can you close the bedroom door?”

“Of course.” Kent filled up two glasses with water, lingering in the kitchen as Jack went into the bathroom. He heard the cabinet open and the shake of pills in a bottle. Returning to the bedroom, he shut the door as promised, catching a quick glimpse of Eric staring at his phone, his eyes unfocused, mouth set in a thin line.

The younger man looked up. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s gonna take a breather and come back when he’s ready.” Kent held out one of the water glasses to Bitty before perching himself on the edge of the bed.

Bitty took a sip of water and stared down into the cup. “You’re good with him.”

“I have a lot of practice.” It came out more sarcastic than he wanted it to. Kent had that problem. Softening his voice, he added, “I bet you do, too.”

Taking a deep breath, Bitty nodded. “He’s doing a lot better now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kent said, “There’s no way he could be playing like he is now if he weren’t.”

Bitty shook his head. “You’d be surprised. When they were in the Stanley Cup, he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat--when he wasn’t playing we would just lie here for hours.”

“Poor guy.” Kent looked up at the ceiling, sighing. “It was like that all the time when we were teenagers—I’d get up for practice and he’d still be up. Always told me he just got up early to go over a play or whatever, but I knew he was lying.”

Bitty nodded gravely. “I don’t think he tries to hide it as much anymore. He knows when to ask for help.”

There were a few beats of silence. Kent hadn’t intended for this to be such a somber conversation, but there were very few people he could talk about the old Jack with. There were very few people he could talk about Jack with, period.

“I promise I have funny stories about young Jack, too,” he offered, and Bitty grinned, patting the empty space on the bed next to him.

“Go on.”

 

* * *

 

It was a half-hour later, after Kent had told Bitty all about Jack actually pranking people (“How did he get the fake spiders in the cereal box?” “I STILL DON’T KNOW, IT WAS STILL SEALED.”) and the two had commiserated about having been coerced into watching Ken Burns’ Civil War on date night, there was a knock at the door and Jack stepped inside, holding a half-full glass of water. His eyes were still red-rimmed, but overall, he seemed calmer, offering a sheepish smile and he set the glass down on the bedside table.

“Hi, honey,” Bitty said, beckoning Jack onto the bed. Jack curled up against Bitty’s leg, resting his head in the other’s lap. “Feeling better?”

Jack nodded. “Took some propranolol, so I should be okay. How are you?”

“I’m just fine. Bitty glanced at Kent and smiled. “Kent was just telling me about you as a teenager.”

“Oh god.” Jack nuzzled against Bitty’s thigh. “I’m glad you two are bonding, even if it’s at my expense.” Bitty smoothed his hand over Jack’s back, and the other nodded happily.

“I should let you two relax,” Kent said, edging himself off the bed.

Bitty’s hand on his own stopped him. “Unless you’ve got somewhere to be,” he explained, and Kent scooted back toward Bitty. “Jack’s gonna need someone to keep him company after I fall asleep. Which is gonna be soon. Narcotics are amazing.”

So Kent stayed. They watched The Great British Bake-Off, with Bitty and Jack frequently interjecting—apparently this was Their Show. He got out of bed only to refill water glasses and to retrieve an entire pie from the top of the stove, which the three men ate right out of the baking dish. Bitty dozed off for brief stretches. As evening approached, the air got cooler, and Kent tugged the blanket from the foot of the bed over all three of them, Jack finally lifting his head out of Bitty’s lap and sitting beside him.

Bitty reached out and took Jack’s hand. “Thanks for taking care of me today,” he said, and Kent saw Jack smile and kiss Bitty’s temple. To his surprise, Bitty reached out and took Kent’s hand as well, tilting his head in Jack’s direction. “And thanks for taking care of him.”

“Anytime,” Kent said softly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Bitty's non-fractured ankle need oxy? hell no. do VIPs and their families get overtreated because no one wants to be responsible for Jack Zimmermann's boyfriend having uncontrolled pain in their ED? yes. Are opiates a convenient excuse for Bitty's guard to be a little let down? ohhhh yeah.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Bitty visit Kent in Vegas. Once again, things don't go as planned.

Kent woke with a start, his phone buzzing on his chest. He squinted at the message, suddenly more awake when he realized it was from Jack.

  
**Zimmermann**  
_(11:57) ESPN says you’re sitting out tonight’s game._

  
Fuck. He’d meant to text Jack when he got home, but after getting changed and finding the one bottle of cough syrup under his bathroom sink, he fell asleep on the couch before he could let the other know.

  
 **Kent**  
_(11:58) Caught whatever’s going around the team. I’ll be back once I can skate and breathe at the same time  
(11:58) I’ll catch you when we’re in Boston next month._

  
He expected a normal text back from Jack, maybe a ‘get well soon.’ But this wasn’t just Jack he was dealing with anymore.

  
**Zimmermann**  
_(12:00)_ _Bitty wants to know if you care what vegetables go into your chicken pot pie._

  
Shaking his head, Kent texted back. _You don’t have to do this._

  
 **Zimmermann**  
(12:01) _He’s making a list now so you’d better speak up if you’re opposed to corn. Apparently people have strong opinions about this._

  
Kent sent one more message before putting his phone on the coffee table and sinking back down under his blanket. _I have no such opinions. Tell Bitty I trust his judgment._

He spent the afternoon alternating between playing NHL 2K18 (always putting himself and Jack on the same team, of course) and falling asleep with the Playstation control in his hands. Bitty texted him a few hours after Jack’s original message.

  
**Eric**  
_(4:05) Do you need us to bring you anything else after the game? Jack didn’t own Tylenol after he graduated, so I’m a little suspicious of NHL players’ abilities to care for themselves._

  
**Kent**  
_(4:05) I’m all set. And seriously, you two should go out and have fun tonight._

  
**Eric**  
_(4:06) The pie’s already assembled. You’re at least getting a visit._  
(4:07) And maybe we can help you feel better ;-)

  
**Kent**  
_(4:08) Don’t make this harder than it already is._

  
**Eric**  
_(4:09) Sorry, darlin. Take it easy. We’ll see you in a few hours.  
_

  
This wasn’t just any visit. This was supposed to be a months-in-the-making, multiple-times-negotiated, discussed-with-his-therapist threesome. In January, Kent had met up for dinner with the two of them; Jack had a glass of wine, and Kent had split the rest of the bottle with Bitty. He’d had a nice buzz going on, and when they all piled into the cab to go back to Jack and Bitty’s place, Kent somehow found himself in the middle. Jack’s arm was behind his neck, and Bitty’s head rested against his shoulder, and there seemed to be hands everywhere in that tiny backseat: on his thigh, in his hair, against his chest as Bitty giggled.

Outside the building, for once in his life, Kent had been the one to say ‘no’ when the other two asked him to come upstairs, each taking a hand. They needed to talk about it first. He’d just gotten Jack in his life again, and it finally seemed like Bitty trusted him not to hurt Jack. Back in his hotel room, he’d gotten off to the thought of being with both of them, and the week after, when he was safely back in Vegas, he Skyped with the couple to talk about details.

But there he was—the big day had come and all he wanted to do was sleep. It would still be nice to see them; they were friends, after all. Kent watched the game, smiling to himself every time he caught a glimpse of Jack’s face through his helmet. After being sure he wasn’t going to miss a post-game interview, he took a quick shower and changed into a t-shirt and what was, in his opinion, the most flattering pair of sweatpants he owned. Might as well give the boys something to look at, even if he couldn’t deliver on their other plans. Back in the living room, he saw the text from Bitty from minutes ago ( _On our way!)_ and took a few Tylenol and another capful of cough syrup before the younger man had to remind him.

Kent buzzed them into the building, and as soon as he opened the door, Bitty was all over him, just not in the way he’d hoped. The younger man got on his tiptoes and pulled Kent down into a hug, kissing his cheek. “Lord, you’re hot,” he said, breaking away, taking a foil-wrapped container from Jack, and heading toward the kitchen.

“You can save your flirting for the next time we try to do this.”

Bitty carefully set down the baking dish on the counter and let out a playful huff. Looking at Jack, he said, “Honey, would you please get that boy somewhere he can lie down?”

Closing the door behind himself, Jack put one arm around Kent and kissed his forehead. “He’s right, you know,” he said, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “Bed or couch?”

“Bed. I’ve been on the couch since Coach sent me home this morning.” He took Jack’s hand and led him to the bedroom. Jack dropped his duffel bag on the floor and took a seat on the bed, tugging Kent down with him. Lying on his side, Kent put his head in the other’s lap. Even though he’d been sleeping on-and-off all day, he still felt tired. “You looked great out there today.”

“Thanks.” Jack started to rub Kent’s back, and Kent sighed happily. “Maybe it’s a good thing you weren’t there to distract me—we might have lost by even more than we did.”

Smirking, Kent murmured, “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Dinner should be ready in a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes, depending on your oven.” Kent opened his eyes when he heard Bitty’s voice getting louder and saw the other stop in the doorway, looking fondly at him and Jack. “You boys look comfortable.” Walking to the bed, Bitty leaned in and kissed Jack just above Kent’s head. “Why don’t you get changed, and I can take over as pillow?”

Kent lifted his head just enough to let Jack slip out and Bitty slide in. He groaned as he lay back down, rolling his shoulders to try to ease his aching muscles. “You sore, sweetheart?” Bitty asked, and Kent nodded, letting out a sigh as the other kneaded the tense spot at the base of his neck with one hand.

“Where’s your bathroom, Parse?” Jack asked, bag over his shoulder again.

“It’s off of the living room.” He raised an eyebrow. “But if all you’re gonna do is change, you could do it here.” In spite of the fact that talking hurt, Kent liked how his voice sounded when he was sick: rough and low, sultry without trying to be. “Show me a little of what I’m gonna get when I’m better.” His pillow shook, Bitty presumably nodding in agreement.

“You two are ridiculous.” Rolling his eyes, Jack nevertheless put his bag on the floor, shrugged off his suit jacket, and proceeded with what was possibly the least-sexy striptease known to man. He undressed normally, occasionally looking toward the bed, blushing, and shifting his gaze back to the floor. He somehow managed to always be at least half-dressed, putting on a t-shirt before trading his trousers for sweatpants. Finally, an embarrassed smile on his lips, Jack came back to the bed, bending over and putting a hand on Kent’s shoulder.

“You’re shivering,” he commented.

“Tylenol should kick in soon.”

“Okay, but until then, why don’t you actually get into bed?” Jack went around to the other side, pulling the covers back so Kent could easily shift positions to get underneath them. While Bitty stood and unbuttoned his shorts, letting them fall to the floor, Jack slipped in behind Kent, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling the back of his neck.

Bitty joined them, wearing just his tank top and briefs, and cozied up to Kent, their faces inches apart. He traced his fingers over Kent’s lips, saying softly, “I was really looking forward to kissing you tonight.”

Hooking up with Jack hadn’t been the anxiety-provoking prospect of the weekend. Kent knew how Jack felt, how he moved, what he responded to. But adding Bitty to the mix opened the door to all sorts of potential problems. What if Jack focused on Bitty and ignored Kent, or the other way around? What if Bitty was just going along with this to make Jack happy and still resented Kent? What if they just didn’t fit together and everything just felt weird? He didn’t want to hurt Jack and Bitty’s relationship. He didn’t want to screw things up with Jack. He just wanted a good time, like always.

Kent smiled and kissed the tip of Bitty’s finger. “Next time, babe.”

“Looking forward to it,” Jack whispered, his breath warm behind Kent’s ear. “It’s good just to get to touch you again.”

A chill ran down his spine, and Kent gasped, quickly burying his face in the pillow and coughing. When he caught his breath, he rolled onto his back, looking up at the other two men. “Sorry this wasn’t the super-hot Vegas threesome you signed up for.”

Sighing, Bitty leaned close and kissed Kent’s forehead. “Oh, honey, no.”

“You’ve got both of us in your bed.” Jack smoothed over Kent’s hair and smiled. “And Bitty’s not even wearing pants. I think that counts.”

Kent felt his cheeks flush, and he couldn’t blame it on the fever. He tugged Jack and Bitty closer, watching as they laced fingers with each other atop his chest. It was nice being nestled in between his best friend and his boyfriend, and although he hadn’t intended on falling asleep, he found himself drifting into drowsy twilight. He kept forcing his heavy eyelids apart, trying to focus on one of the faces by his side, wanting to sear that moment into his memory.

“It’s okay,” Bitty said softly. “Rest.”

Jack kissed his cheek. “We’ll be here.”

 

 

 


End file.
